Ode to the Crum.
Slamming doors, dirty floors,
Screams at night, one off the twos, fucking screws,
Stinking food, lock up now, slam those flaps,
Thick stone walls, rusted bars
Man I hate that Crum.
Seeing the governor, seeing the quack, seeing ghosts
Big T’s on the radio, visitor for 556, get your parcel,
Down the tunnel, hanging cell, alarm bell,
Stiff sheets, itchy blankets, bed packs, search team in,
Man I hate that Crum.
Three to a cell, locked all day, here is hell,
Strip search here, strip search there, open the gate and just wait,
Can’t sleep at night, can’t stay awake all day,
One hour walk, smell of stench, mystery parcels fly
Man I hate that Crum.
Greasy topped tea in plastic mugs, steel pressed trays, and slop as food
Bumpered floors, padded cell, on remand , on the threes,
On the Boards, thick stone walls, thick set grills, in the circle,
Shouting, bawling, football in the yard,
Man I hate that Crum.
And now I’m back, no more the noise, cells are empty
Men all gone, so small and lonely, no screws to taunt,
The quiet landings hold their memories, I stand still,
The guide reels off his spin, no more the banter.
Man I remember that Crum.
